The Last Battle
by InheriWriter
Summary: Eragon, his Dragon Saphira, and the Varden have reached the Gates of Uru'baen. Before they can take the capital however, they must face against Murtagh, Thorn, and the king himself. Who shall survive?
1. The Gates of Uru'baen

The Gates of Uru'baen

The Gates of Uru'baen

A holocaust of fire raged in the sky as Eragon and Saphira responded to the challenge of Thorn and Murtagh. _Must it end like this?_ Eragon questioned in his mind to Saphira.

_There is no other choice, little one. The vows in the ancient language that he made to Galbatorix have finally taken their effect upon Murtagh. He is no longer a friend, but an enemy who was twisted against his will, _said Saphira. _We must destroy him and his dragon if he is to be truly free_.

Sighing heavily, Eragon placed his Durgrumst Igneitum helm on his head, making sure not to squash his pointed ears beneath the cold metal bowl. Clanking around in her dragon armor, Saphira aligned herself with the ranks of the Varden to face the gates of Uru'baen, the capital of the Empire. In the few short weeks after the epic battle of Dras-Leona, more men and money than ever poured into the Varden, spurred on by its image of invincibility. Now, the rebels, with men, Urgals, Dwarves, and the twelve elven magicians, nearly matched the size of the Empire's forces that were about to confront them.

As expected, Galbatorix refused to just lie around and wait for his mortal soldiers to get slaughtered. Instead, Murtagh and his great ruby-red dragon, Thorn had flown out of the towering citadel in the middle of the city to confront, and possibly capture, Eragon and Saphira before the Varden could take the city.

Acknowledging the grim truth, Eragon weaved his mind together with Saphira's, then reached inside the pouch of his dragon saddle and held out the Eldunari of Glaedr, connecting minds with the deceased dragon's consciousness as well._ Be careful Eragon, Galbatorix could take over Murtagh again and harm you, as he did with Oromis and me, _Glaedr warned. Eragon heeded the advice and reached out with his mind, finding and connecting with Arya's mind and through her, the twelve elven spellcasters. _Be ready for anything they throw at you, _they said through the new mental link. Finally, Eragon reached inside his pocket and drew out Aren, the elves' ring of friendship that had been passed down by Brom to him. Inside the seemingly innocent sapphire swirled a great hectic maelstrom of magical energy that could be relied upon as a source of strength in combat. From the Belt of Beloth the Wise, which also contained gems filled with power, dangled Eragon's blue hued hand-and-half sword, whose pommel also contained an energy-filled sapphire. _I'm ready to do whatever it takes to free them from Galbatorix's control, _Eragon thought grimly.

_That's the spirit, _said Saphira, humming with excitement at the coming fight.

Eragon looked away, trying to banish away the tears in his eyes as he thought back to the time when Murtagh was just a friend, a traveling companion and nothing else. While he was ready to accept the truth that Murtagh could not be saved without being killed, a part of his mind still tried to find a way to avoid that. _I could knock him out, hit him unconscious, _he thought, and then dismissed the idea. His half-brother was too fast and strong to be caught with a simple trick like that. Reaching that conclusion, Eragon raised his sword in answer to Murtagh's yell of battle.


	2. The Unexpected

= The Unexpected =

= Flying High =

Red and blue grated each other, producing violet sparks that flew in all directions. Saphira winged her way into a cloud, seeking to find refuge in which to rest for even a moment, but Thorn, larger than ever, raced after her into the white, wispy vapor. _Curses, _thought Eragon as blood leaked from Saphira's belly wound.

_I'm alright. Arya is fixing my wound_,replied the blue-scaled dragon. _Concentrate on defeating the son of Morzan._

_Alright, _said Eragon, concentrating once more on Murtagh. Murtagh, his half-brother, his friend and unwilling enemy. _If only I knew how to remove Galbatorix's curse on him, _he thought bitterly, as he raised his sword to parry yet another blow from the helmed and armored Dragon Rider.

Turning his melancholy thoughts into a fountain of strength, he swung Brisingr in a wide arc over his head, knocking aside another head strike in the spin, and slashed downward at Murtagh. Trying to block the powerful blow seemed to overburden his shield, for it snapped and splintered neatly in half. Throwing the bits of steel away, Murtagh grasped the hilt of Zar'roc with both hands, yelled savagely, brought down his sword upon Eragon, who had predicted the action and moved his own blade to not only parry the blow, but force his opponent back on the defensive. Upon the completing the complex series of twirls and swirls, Eragon drew strength from Aren into his muscles and rammed his blade at Murtagh with all of his strength.

"Skoliro!" Murtagh cried, raising his right hand, his gedwey ignasia glowing with magical energy as he projected it into an invisible shield. Eragon, stunned by the sudden, unexpected deflection of Brisingr, fell back before Murtagh's renewed onslaught, receiving numerous cuts and bruises as parried back blow after blow.

As his blood poured from those wounds, his nerves were replaced by a senseless rage that seized control of his all. Eragon roared and, ignoring the new scar that Zar'roc carved into his left thigh, struck out at Murtagh, devoting all of his concentration into the accuracy of the swing, and all of his raw energy into the force of the attack. The air around them rang with the din of the inhumanly powerful strike. A scratch was etched into Zar'roc as Brisingr scraped past it in mid-swing. The vibration of the blow paralyzed both Eragon and Murtagh, both of whom were flung off of their respective dragons.

As he fell through the air, his hair waving, his vision fading, he called…

_Saphira…_

The last thing he saw was a brush of _green _as his eyelids folded. And all went dark…

-----------

Red-ruby-Thorn dove beneath her as she slung her white-knife-talons at him once again. _He has grown bigger than me. _She had been expecting him to still be at about the same size as her, but he had exceeded her size and weight in just a few short weeks.Seeking refuge in the sheep-fleece-clouds, she heard the clang-clang of her mind-soul-friend Eragon clashing with Morzan-son-Murtagh. Saphira suddenly rotated her wings so that she stopped abruptly, causing Thorn to sail past her into the distance. Just as he passed underneath her, she lashed out with all of her ivory-blade-claws at him, leaving many rough-canyon-gouges in his along his flank.

Roaring with frustration, Thorn whirled around and sprinted through the air, launching a jet of bright-sun-flame at her. Bugling in triumph, Saphira retaliated with a storm of blue shooting-star-fireballs. The resounding explosion that resulted from the collision of the two attacks rang in her mind as a blast of wind slammed into her open frame as well as Thorn's. What blew her away, however, did not blow away Thorn, who absorbed the damage and lunged at her, fangs bared and claws. Suddenly, she felt partner-of-mind-body-Eragon topple from her back.

"_Saphira..."_came his voice.

_NO!!! _she cried. Writhing in vain to see where her "little one" was, she did not notice the light touch of another consciousness against hers.

The last thing Saphira sensed as she faded was a voice in her mind that rumbled with power, yet with an equal measure of kindness. _Rest, my sweet. Do not fear, your rider is well…all is well…now, rest… _


	3. Rise and Fall

**Challenge**

The sounds of combat, roars of triumph, moans of the wounded, and the pounding of the war drums all collided with his eardrums as he traveled discreetly towards the battle. His heart raced as he saw Eragon and Saphira in the air, squaring off against Murtagh and red scaled dragon, Thorn. He felt his pulse leap twofold of its current speed as he felt the shockwave caused by that last blow between Brisingr and Zar'roc a mile away from where Eragon and Murtagh fell off their dragons, who were subsequently flung off balance by the explosion of their fireballs meeting each other in mid-air. He saw with his acute elves' eyes as Eragon's closed and Murtagh drew back his blade for a final, fatal stab, an assurance of victory before they both crashed down to their twin deaths on the blood-stained grass awaiting them.

"Letta!" he yelled, reaching out with his silver-marked right hand, tensing and curving his fingers so that they formed a spectacle reminiscent of a dragon's claw. He watched with grim satisfaction as Eragon's fall was suddenly halted and Murtagh tumbled past his unconscious half-brother with a look of pure surprise on his face.

He looked to his left as his mentor's voice floated through the air to him.

"Well done, my apprentice," said Tenga, old beyond measure, but still with that determined, weathered look upon his aged face that had existed, according to the fairths on the wall of his lonely hut, since the time of the Fall.

"Thank you, Ebrithil," he replied.

"Do not thank me just yet, young one, for only now does the true test strength and loyalty unveil itself-in battle," Tenga forewarned in a low, deep, baritone voice. "You must use the training I have given well, for it shall make the difference between life, and death."

He nodded in acknowledgement of his mentor's words, then faced forward as he jabbed Naegling, the sword of his father, into the air, its golden sheen reflecting the rays of the scorching sun. Magically raising his voice, he bellowed in a sound that obscured all other noise as his emerald green dragon raised his serpentine head and roared out in a single resounding howl.

"I, Vanir Thrandurin, son of Oromis, Rider of Edoc'sil Laufskular, challenge you, Galbatorix! For the elves! For the humans! For the dwarves! For the dragons! FOR ALL IN ALAGAESIA!!!"

~*~*~*~

Murtagh reared back his Zar'roc, preparing to plunge it through Eragon's gut. _Why must I destroy my brother every time I encounter him? What is the purpose of my life it I am only to kill and never save? Why must I earn, instead warm gratitude, the cold, hard hatred and ire of others? _Thoughts raced through his mind as he gathered the last of his energy in his arms, ready to fulfill his accursed master's orders once and for all.

_Do not do it, or your soul shall be lost to darkness forever. _Murtagh faltered and missed.

_Do it, and all your pain at the hands of Galbatorix shall vanish. _He raised his arms for a second stab, only to have his aim slip in the wake of his indecision.

_If you do it, you may lose the pain of your defiance to the Dark King, but you shall live on forever will the burden of having murdered your kin, which is even worse than the former._

Murtagh could not do it. He let Zar'roc slip from his hands as, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the limp form that was Eragon abruptly stop in mid-fall._ Good for him_, he thought to himself as he turned his head and saw the blood-spattered, shield-and-sword strewn battlefield awaiting him at the end of his fall…and his life.

_MURTAGH!!! _cried a voice in the back of his mind.

~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:** Edoc'sil Laufskular means "Unconquerable Leaf-scales." I chose "Leaf" because Edoc'sil's scales are green, making them look like shiny leaves. Anyway, hope you like(d) the chapter.


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